Reparations
by Parsat
Summary: With Tyler, Cybil, Greg, and Sidney dead, and Angie MIA, Derek is the only survivor on the losing side in a long war. With only his Killing Touch and his combat experience, can he beat the risk?


**So here's somewhat of a crackfic that I thought of long ago but couldn't figure out how to write until now. Much weirdness and geekdom ensues.

* * *

**

**Reparations**

Irkutsk was a cold landscape in this time of year. The sky was as cloudy white as the rolling hills surrounding the fort, which seemed to jut out unnaturally from the landscape. Why the hell someone chose to build a fort here was anybody's guess, but they did, much to Derek's dismay.

He took one last puff of his cigarette before tossing it on the floor, mashing it with his foot. Sure, smoking was bad for his health. His former profession had taught him that, but for someone who had lost all of his friends, even the slightest bit of carcinogenic warmth and comfort was preferable to the quick deaths that had caught his friends.

His friends...he wondered why he was the last survivor, out of all possibilities. He had never been such an outstanding soldier during training, but somehow he survived every time. Tyler had lost his life in Egypt, his entire platoon wiped off the face of the earth. Cybil disappeared from the mountains of Argentina, and her husband had shared the same valiant fate in the ruins of Tokyo, Japan. Sidney had shockingly defected to the enemy, but was betrayed in Britain.

And Angie was gone. He never heard how it happened, but she simply went MIA. Some said that it was in Peru, some said Ukraine, and others had even ventured Siam. When her heard that she was lost, it was as if something inside him snapped and would never recover again. That night he killed as he had never killed before, and his comrades now looked at him, the Death Doctor, in awe and fear. His fury had led them to an advance that ultimately spelled their doom when their lines had been overextended and crushed.

_So now we're holed up in hell._ He assembled his weapon, an RPD light machine gun that they had secured from an old Soviet armory nearby. It was a rugged, powerful weapon, like Russian arms tended to be, not too accurate, but certainly able to spray hot lead like no other and pack a punch against the enemy.

War did something to him…those hands that formerly healed were now hands of war and death. Sometimes battle seemed to slow down around him, and he would run into the line of fire unscathed to attack in close-quarters. His hand was always steady and his aim was sure. His knife, however, was the surest weapon, for he wielded it with the precision of a scalpel.

"We've sighted tanks and artillery to the southeast twenty miles away! They're coming!"

Derek got up. "Take battle positions everyone! Set up and fire the mortars as soon as they're in range!"

The fort was comprised of a system of bunkers on each hill, with tunnels connecting each one. It would be difficult for the enemy to fully encircle the bunker complex; once they took one, retaliation from the other bunkers was sure to follow.

With the air of the battle-hardened he took up his position on the West side, which was sure to see the brunt of the attack. Reconnaissance had shown that there was a massive buildup in Siberia, but there was likely to be a pincer movement from Yakutsk as well.

At the rate they were going, they were probably ten miles away now. The plains below had excellent visibility. A light snow was falling now, and a cold wind was pouring into the bunker. Derek lit another cigarette, then looked out of his binoculars. There were tanks, artillery, and jeeploads of infantry coming over. It looked like this was going to be the big one.

He activated his radio and gave his command as they reached the five mile point. "Mortars! Open fire at coordinates 0535!"

A tremendous noise was heard, and in the distance he could see explosions throwing permafrost and flames all about. There were a few bits of smouldering wreckage, but the bulk of the army was intact. Moreover, the invaders seemed to be rushing in quicker as well.

As the army reached the two-mile point, the infantry started to get unloaded...there must have been twenty battalions against their five, not to mention their three or so companies of tank and artillery support. This was bad.

As the mass of infantry started to climb up the hill, Derek and his compatriots opened fire. A hail of bullets tore through the offense, who had no sort of cover whatsoever. They did have, however, a massive number of soldiers, and mingled with these infantry were snipers.

Derek was working up to a bloodlust...he was firing away, tearing through the infantry in his line of fire, while his teammates on the sides provided extra support. Chunks of bunker concrete and his comrades' brains started to fly about as the enemy moved in close enough to fire back. He could not care though, even as his friends were dropping next to him. Time seemed to slow down with his concentration…a weapon that could fire 650 rounds a minute combined with his inhumanly quick skill at reloading seemed to be in his hands for forever.

When at long last, he had finally expended all of his ammunition, he grabbed an AK-47 out of a weapons locker in the back and fled from the grenades that were bouncing into the bunker. In the tunnel, he could hear the sound of his comrades in other bunkers getting overrun. He needed to escape.

Rounding the corner, he knocked over an enemy, who reached for his pistol as soon as he hit the ground. Derek was much too quick for that, though, and quickly sent a burst into his abdomen. Some other hostiles were down the hallway, and as they turned to face them he gunned them down, too.

Sprinting through the maze of tunnels, he found himself in the middle of an entire squad this time. In a flash he had killed three of them with his AK-47, and brained another one with the butt of the now-empty firearm. The last one was still aiming down his sights when Derek kicked his weapon out of his hands and disemboweled him with a ventral midsagittal incision that would have made any surgeon proud.

He was so close to the escape garage now…Derek had his pistol out. Just as he reached the door it was kicked open. The door had not even had its hinges broken yet when Derek emptied the whole magazine through the door. As the door separated from the frame he could see two figures sprawled out on the ground and the two remaining survivors of the squad rushing in. He tossed his empty pistol at the first person's head and speedily delivered that person a makeshift laryngectomy.

_Just one last hostile…they'll go down easy_. His knife was poised this time to the heart to end it, but that person pierced through his Killing Touch slow-motion, smacking the knife out of his hands. Another person with his same Touch? He did not know who that person was because of a gas mask obscuring their face.

He transitioned into a punch that the other person, a very slim person, dodged without much of an effort. Derek knew this was the end, as that person slammed a pistol into his abdomen and fired away, tearing apart his organs like no GUILT could have ever done. He fell backwards in a supine position, grey tearing at the corners of his eyes as he looked at his murderer.

But his eyes widened in their final moments as his killer tore off his gas mask to reveal long blond hair, sparkling green eyes, and a face filled with laughter. Slowly he heard the final words:

"I won!"

Derek snapped back to reality. It was late at night at his coffee table. His wife, Angie, stood triumphantly by the Risk board, which was now covered with green army figures. Several little cases filled with blue, black, yellow, and purple figurines served as reminders that Tyler, Cybil, Sidney, and Greg had been playing but had opted to go back home as the night drew on.

"Well, what do you say to that, Mr. Death Doctor?"

"It looks like I've been bested by a better general. Clearly I underestimated your fighting prowess. So what are my terms of surrender?"

"Well," Angie replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "I demand some _reparations_."

And with that, she pulled Derek over for a kiss, which he obliged as he always did.

When they had finally finished, Derek spoke, "I believe that was a satisfactory peace treaty."

Angie smiled at her incredibly geeky husband, but she wasn't done yet. She was going to play his game. "I think this new alliance requires some additional celebration."

She gave a short "_eep!_" as he swept her off her feet and into his arms. He looked passionately into her eyes as he gave a rather husky retort.

"Any general worth his stars could have seen through that plan anytime."

And with that he carried her into their bedroom.

* * *

**Yep, it really was a game of Risk this whole time...you could tell that Derek was getting lucky with his dice rolls until the probability turned against his favor. And yes, Derek and Angie must always get some hawtness going on in the end. But hey, I did warn you that this was a crackfic. Maybe next time I'll have more fic and less crack. :D Until then, please review and tell me how you liked or disliked this. Catch ya later!**


End file.
